Wreck of the Day
by Arainia
Summary: A series of oneshots based on the songs from Anna Nalick's album 'Wreck of the Day'. Multiple pairings. Third oneshot up, Kurt-centric, r&r.
1. Wreck of the Day

**1. Wreck of the Day**

**Song choice: Wreck of the Day  
****Pairing: WillxTerri  
Genre: Angst  
Rating: T to be safe  
**

The driving rain beat a scornful rhythm against his car's windshield, in the distance headlights and road markers blurred in his vision- a side effect of the downpour outside? No, Will realized, his own eyes were foggy with unshed tears, a feeling of tremendous anxiety had settled in his stomach and refused to be pushed out.

_Calm down Will,_ he coaxed himself mentally, _calm down. There's no need to cry._ His attempts at self-comfort were wasted because as soon as the prickling feeling behind his eyelids lessened, he caught the glimpse of his black suitcase edge in the rear view mirror. The big suitcase containing all of his material possessions- or at least, the ones he'd been allowed to take with him. He wasn't actually sure what the bag held; Terri had greeted him at the door with it that evening, handed it to him, and slammed the door in his bewildered face.

His resolve crumpled like an old man sans Viagra and a new wave of tears cascaded over his face, coupled with exhaustion and utter despair. He remembered back when his marriage had been fresh and new, back when he'd believed that he and Terri could overcome anything as long as they were together. He'd been naïve to think that they would be different from every other couple out there- that they'd be impervious to fights, unspoken tension and infidelity based on the fact that they loved each other. Sometimes love just wasn't enough.

But how could it not be when they'd been together so long? They were the fairytale couple, having met each other in high school, beating the odds of popularity and social normalities (she was a cheerleader, he was the lead singer of the glee club. It normally wouldn't have been an acceptable mix) that had been stacked against them. They'd seen their fair share of problems afterwards as well- Terri had no ambition to pursue post-secondary education. She'd been raised to believe that women stayed at home and minded to the children, not went out and made money to help pay the bills. Will, on the other hand, had his heart set on being a teacher and his prospective salary did not please Terri, who'd always dreamed of the finer things in life.

But they'd gotten through that- or at least, Will thought they had- and he became a teacher and she got a part-time job to tie up some loose ends and pay for her addiction to Pottery Barn merchandise. She'd wanted a baby. So had he. She'd insisted that he become an accountant- they needed even more money if they wanted to provide for a third life, after all- he almost went through with it but was stopped when a colleague told him that he should follow his heart and do what he loved. She'd been so angry that night that he told her he was going to remain a teacher, and the director of the Glee Club (which was an almost thankless job).

"Why would you stay there?" She'd asked, voice tight as she rested a hand on her still-flat abdomen. "Don't you want our child to have the best life possible?"

"Of course I do." Of course he did. He'd been from a lower middle-class family himself growing up, he knew what it was like to covet things that he could not afford.

"Then why didn't you send in your application?!" Her nostrils were flared, the hand that was not on her stomach found her hip, which was jutted out in an attitudinal way.

"I was going to, Ter, it's just that Emma-"

And that was the beginning of the end. When he'd mentioned Emma Pillsbury, one of the guidance counsellors at his high school, Terri had gone off the deep end.

"Emma? Who the fuck is _she_?"

"A guidance counsellor, she-"

"Are you _cheating on me_?!"

"What? No, I-" the very idea itself- of cheating on her, of dishonouring their marriage vows- had never crossed his mind, and quite honestly, it made him sick to the core.

"That's what it is!" Terri was pacing around the room, a cold fire in her eyes. "You've been so distant lately, and it's because of her! Because, because, because-" she hiccoughed, tears interrupting her. "You're cheating on me." She whimpered finally.

"Terri, I _love you_. I would never do that to you, you know…" Will knew that his wife was hypersensitive about unfaithfulness in marriage. Her father had cheated on her mother with a whole slew of woman, and Terri had been absolutely broken when she learned of her dad's 'indiscretions'. Will knew how paranoid his cherished wife could be. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her trembling form close.

"You know I would never even think of cheating on you." He whispered, kissing her hair.

"You promise?" She tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

"I promise." And they stood there for what seemed like hours, holding each other just like that. Will would keep his promise and have eyes only for the mother of his child- but it was too bad that she wouldn't.

She went to the doctor a few weeks later and came back with the news that there _was_ no baby. He'd been confused at first.

"What do you mean there's no baby?"

"I'm not pregnant." Terri shrugged and went to the fridge to heat up some leftovers.

"Are you okay?" Will asked.

"No." She said flatly.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No."

And he'd respected her wishes. They never mentioned it again.

Emma was the only one he'd trusted with the news that his wife was expecting. When he told her that he was not to be a father, she'd been extremely sympathetic.

"I'm so sorry, Will." She'd placed a hand on his arm, a platonic gesture of solace. "Do you want me to buy you a coffee?"

"No thanks." He shook his head. "Can you take over glee practice today? I think I'll get home early and surprise Terri."

Oh, how he wished he'd accepted the offer of coffee and stayed to supervise his glee kids. The kids were the only constants in his life, the only ones who would not abandon him. He'd kept his promise and told Terri that he would not cheat on her- but as he was about to learn, she had no intention of returning the favour.

It was a horrible cliché (his whole life was, actually) but he'd walked into his apartment, found a pair of dirty sneakers that were not his, and walked into the bedroom to find a nameless man on top of his wife.

He'd stood there, frozen in shock.

"Will!" Terri had cried.

"T-Terri."

"I can explain!"

"I don't want to know." He turned around and walked out, spent at least five hours wandering the streets, feeling sorry for himself. And when he'd returned home, Terri was waiting with him with his suitcase in hand.

"Terri-"

"Here." She forfeited the suitcase. "Call me when you decide what you want."

_Slam!_

He'd been tossed out of his own apartment by his cheating wife.

When he arrived at his childhood home, tear-stained and completely empty inside, his mother had said not a word.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He couldn't even find the words, so he just shook his head, shedding his jacket. "I'll make you some tea." She bustled off to the kitchen before Will could argue. He shuffled straight to his old bedroom- the one he'd been forced to share with two brothers- and set his suitcase down on the bed. It was heavy enough, Will suspected that Terri had at least packed him some clothes.

Worn out hands fumbled with the clasps before finally wrenching the luggage open. On top of his neatly folded shirts and pants, there were papers. Divorce papers.

He lost it then. He sat on the floor, sobs racking his body. What had he ever done to deserve this? Their marriage had been tense for the past few months- what with glee, their false pregnancy, and her paranoia- but he'd never thought it would come to this.

It was two days later when he finally decided what he wanted. Two days later when he asked Emma to borrow her special _Happy Feet_ pen. Two days later when he'd signed the divorce papers with shaking hands.

_And maybe I'm not up for being a victim of love  
When all my resistance will never be distance enough_  
_Driving away from the wreck of the day  
And it's finally quiet in my head  
Driving alone, finally on my way home to the comfort of my bed  
And if this is giving up, then I'm giving up  
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up  
On love, On love_

* * *

**I heartily apologize for the epic fail that this oneshot is. I'm going through some stuff right now and the only thing I really feel like doing is writing. Anyway, honest feedback is appreciated =) as stated in the summary, this will be a series of oneshots based on songs from the Anna Nalick album _Wreck of the Day_.**


	2. Citadel

**2. Citadel**

**Song choice: Citadel  
Pairing: RachelxFinn  
Genre: Romance  
Rating: T  
NOTE: I have _nothing _against vampire books (in fact, one of my favourite books is Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side. I highly reccomend it) please don't leave a comment screaming at me for berating a nameless novel.**

There were plenty of reasons why she didn't have a boyfriend- she was unpopular, scoffed at by those of higher social standing. She was socially inept and thought too much of herself. Her rigorous Myspace schedule kept her too busy for such trivial things as 'love' and 'romance'. Her focus was on being an all-around overachiever, something she couldn't do while being bogged down by emotional problems and _stupid boys_.

Yes, those were all acceptable reasons for why Rachel Berry didn't have a boyfriend, and whenever she wondered _why_ she had no significant other, she would remind herself of these things, and they would usually cheer her up. But the reasons she'd thought up were only excuses- blatant lies that she used to fool herself so that she could sleep easier at night.

The truth was that seeing couples in the hallways at school, attached by the hands, lips, or some other appendage, it _hurt_. Rachel hated watching them, yet she couldn't tear her bitter eyes away. She'd only ever had one experience with 'love' and it had ended negatively. So negatively, in fact, that she'd badgered her fathers to withdraw her from the expensive private school she was attending, and planted herself in the middle of a public school where she knew no one. No faces were familiar, no voices rang a bell, no names made her heart ache.

The thing about love, Rachel had learned, was that it wasn't always the idyllic, fairytale-esque emotion portrayed in movies and that God awful vampire book that her cousin just couldn't stop yammering about. No, love was a double-edged, hateful sword ready to stab its wielder in the heart, wounding her so deeply that no feeling akin to affection was ever able to pierce it again.

Dramatic? Maybe so. But the knowledge that love was simply an ugly chemical creation that messed with the brain and the sex organs was comforting. That meant that the chemicals would wear off and someday, sooner or later, everyone would be alone, just like Rachel.

Or at least, that's what she told herself until she bumped into Finn Hudson. Wouldn't you know it? Her first week of sophomore year she came down with a nasty cold- a very undignified cold. Snot and boogers blasting everywhere, a hacking cough that could challenge a chain smoker's. It was _so not_glamorous. Anyway, the point of the story is that after she was excused to go to the office and call home, she went out into the hallway, started down the stairwell to the main office (her biology classroom was right next to the stairs) and, in a bout of very uncontrolled, unRachel-like behaviour, she lost her balance and fell.

Her head spun, the air around her head whistled, and she managed to sneeze mid-fall.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" Suddenly she was braced against something solid, something hard. When she opened her eyes, they saw a clean black t-shirt reading: SPORTS ARE LIFE in big white letters. Her eyes followed the shirt upwards, a nice neck, a fucking gorgeous face-

_Whoa, what?!_

Rachel blinked, stunned. Her pale cheeks were suddenly pink, but she easily dismissed that, rationalizing it as the fault of the mild fever she had.

"Um…" the nameless hottie's- erm, guy's- eyebrows went up. "Are you okay?" He frowned, his perfect pink lips- gahh! What was with her?- contorting into a frown.

"Uh, yeah, yeah." Rachel confirmed, only just then realizing that one of his toned arms was around her waist and the other rested firmly on her shoulder. It was like they were dancing, only not, because he was holding her up, as she was half-bent over from the impact of her fall.

"I'm fine…" _please don't sneeze, please don't sneeze, please don't sneeze._ "ACHOO!" And there it was. She'd just let loose a catastrophic explosion of mucus, fresh from her nose, straight onto his shirt- whoever he was.

"Ah!" His arms dropped from their securing positions, luckily, she steadied herself in time.

"Oh my God." She clapped both hands over her (probably contagious) mouth, eyes wide in horror. "I'm so sorry." She whimpered between her fingers. Great, she felt like crap, she looked like crap, there was snot spewing out of her nose like lava spewing a volcano, and _he_ was probably so disgusted that he'd never want to see her again. God, when she was famous and on top of the world, he'd probably tell the press about this debilitating moment. Rachel could just see it now, in one of those horrible mental flash-forwards:

"Oh yeah, that Rachel Berry? She sneezed all over me in high school, she was a really gross loser kid back then. Probably still is now. She was _so_ unhygienic, she _does not_deserve that Grammy… give it to the Miley chick instead."

Oh, God, the shame! The horror!

"Are… you okay?" He asked again, seeing as how her eyes were glassy and moist.

"Uh, I… I'm fine." She repeated. Snot was leaking unattractively from her nose. She was a wreck. She began walking toward her original destination, the office- maybe those four inch heels weren't such a smart idea- when a voice called her back.

"Are you sure you're okay? Um…"

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, he was obviously filing through his brain, trying to recall her identity.

"My name's Allison!" She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Allison Cameron!" So that was the name of her favourite character on _House M.D_, but it wasn't likely that this guy would ever know.

"Right. Allison. Do you need some help getting to the office?" A flutter began in her chest, light, quick, and completely unrelated to her illness.

"No!" She began hopping away, heels be damned. "I can get there myself, thank you."

"Are you s-"

"Yes! Thanks!" She rounded the corner and checked over her shoulder. Thankfully, Mystery Guy had not followed her. She sighed in relief, hobbling the rest of the way to the office. She hoped he wasn't going to get sick.

Mystery Guy, as it turned out, had a name; Finn Hudson. He was an amazing athlete, good-looking, and popular among his fellow peers. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, but Rachel often wondered if he was really as dumb as he let his friends believe, or if he was intentionally _dense_ for the sake of tying together his "popular jock" box with a nice ribbon on top. She'd seen him be intelligent. She knew he wasn't maximizing his "smart" potential and that bothered her. Call her a crazy woman but she hated to see anything wasted, especially if it could be used to benefit a person.

Not that she'd ever tell Finn she thought he was letting his brain rot for the shallow purpose of impressing his dunce friends; no, she'd never tell him anything. She wasn't allowed near him. She was unpopular, which, at William McKinley high school, was equal to her being the carrier of the bubonic plague or something. Wouldn't want to infect any of those who had social standing with the Black Death.

And she was fine with that. Being cast out on the fringes, watching Finn being an obnoxious bastard, so unlike the sweet boy who'd saved her that one day, it just meant that she could isolate her heart. Protect it from unnecessary hurt and pain. And no, she wouldn't candidly admit that observing Finn portraying himself as an obnoxious bastard hurt her. She couldn't.

Life went on.

Finn got himself a girlfriend, Quinn (oh look, their names rhymed! How absolutely _gag-worthy_), Rachel could pretend she was unaffected all she wanted, but that didn't stop the sleepless nights or the sobbing, unheard, into her star-shaped throw pillow.

When she started writing Finn's name in the margins of her notebook during class, she knew she had to do something drastic to get him out of her mind. Something like… joining the glee club.

Well, why not? She was already socially fucked. Might as well transform into a full freak, give into the rightness of doing what she loved (singing). High school was almost over anyway. No need to have regrets.

And she'd learned that one of the strategies for having no regrets was to not get hurt. It was simple, yet genius; it was how she operated, numbing herself against pain and trying to embrace what little good she could find in her day-to-day life.

But fate had other plans for the aspiring starlet, and fate, as it turned out, had a correlated plan for Finn Hudson. Rachel never knew the exact reason that Finn joined the glee club, (ie, Mr. Schuester's uncanny and unexpected ability to manipulate completely oblivious and trusting students) but when she saw him stroll into the auditorium, head down, misery plain on his handsome face, she could swear that she was having a heart attack. But… the good kind of heart attack. Was there really such a thing?

Apparently so.

Rachel tried to fool herself into thinking that Finn being part of the glee club wouldn't change anything in her life. He sang lead, she sang lead, it meant nothing. Except that whenever he was around, she couldn't stop staring at him, and when any kind of opportunity to talk to him presented itself, she snatched it up and chattered away about the most irrelevant, inconsequential things. Hey, just because she'd banned herself from falling in love, didn't mean she couldn't flirt harmlessly, right? Except that, while Rachel was a talented singer and dancer, she had absolutely no idea of how to flirt. This translated into ninety five percent of her conversations with Finn Hudson being nothing more than acute, embarrassing verbal diarrhoea. She didn't talk about normal things like the mall or what movie was currently playing that she wanted to see- she didn't know why, she just couldn't. Whenever Finn was around, she was reduced to a babbling baby, and the only thing she could think of to do was talk about glee while feeding herself comments to help keep her ego afloat. Afterwards, he'd just stare at her weirdly and walk away… and she was left feeling like the dumbest person on the face of the planet.

But it didn't matter, she assured herself, because any romance with Finn would've been a wasted venture. High school love didn't last, love was stupid anyway, and she had other things- like her future career- to consider. But just because love didn't last, it was stupid, and she shouldn't be thinking about it, didn't mean that she was immune to it. Every time Finn was within eyeshot, her heart would beat faster, her face would flush, and she'd feel inexplicably giddy.

Damn it all to hell.

In the springtime, Mr. Schu told them they'd be featured in a local competition for a cash prize. It was a little immoral and against the school ethics code, he said, but the glee club's financing had to come from somewhere. Only this time, instead of Finn and Rachel being the leads, as they usually were, Artie and Tina were given the chance to shine as the all-star duo. Rachel pouted for a little bit (fine, two weeks. Almost half of the allotted rehearsal time) but when she realized that she couldn't get her way, she grudgingly accepted being in the back. Standing so close to Finn that she could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body. Well, maybe being backup wouldn't be such a tragedy. _This time_.

In spite of her "demotion", Rachel was keen to win the competition. She pushed the others to push themselves, forced them to put in a couple more hours everyday of singing and dancing (in Artie's case, wheeling). She wanted and expected nothing but the best from the group. She was always early to rehearsal, she liked to sit in the seats in the middle of the auditorium and visualize herself up on the stage, singing and dancing, doing great things. She was just in the middle of a fantastic daydream when someone tapped her on the shoulder, calling her attention. She opened her soft eyes to find Finn, standing over her. Her stomach gave a squeeze that was both painful and euphoric. She closed her eyes again as he plunked down next to her.

"Tired?" He asked, by way of conversation starter.

"No." She said, "just resting."

"I broke up with Quinn."

"Oh?" She was smiling. _Why are you smiling? Stop smiling! Then he'll know you like him._

"Yeah. I… kind of like someone else."

The smile on her face instantly faded, her eyes popped open, a feeling of horror making everything clench up so badly.

"Don't you want to know who it is?"

"Sure." She lied. "Who?"

"Allison Cameron." There was laughter in his voice.

Rachel pushed herself forward in the seat, tipping her head at him. "I don't think I know her." Best to accept defeat with dignity and grace.

"You wouldn't. She's a character from _House, M.D._"

"You mean you have a crush on the actress who plays her?" Rachel corrected.

"No. See, I ran into _Allison_ last year… she was really sick. Sneezed all over me."

"Oh…" so he'd figured her out.

"Yeah. Turns out when she's not getting sick all over someone, she's actually pretty cool. In a weird, obsessive, bossy, quirky, beautiful sort of way."

"Oh…" did he just call her beautiful? Holy shit, he did! She couldn't stop her body from reacting, the flush dominated her skin, the butterflies danced in her stomach, there was no way she could've looked beautiful right then.

"I really like her."

"_Oh_!" She felt two things at once: euphoria and horror. Euphoria because she'd dreamed of him saying those words and horror because he'd actually said them. Now that he'd taken that step, someone was liable to get hurt. "I, uh, I don't think-"

He frowned. "It's apparent that she doesn't like me."

"No, I just-" Rachel bit her lip, cursing herself for being such a damaged freak. She couldn't even confess her feelings properly. "It's… we're not such a great idea?"

"_Huh_?"

The auditorium door opened and other voices floated through. Rachel swallowed any reply she'd been about to utter and stood quickly, walking toward the stage.

"Rachel-" Finn started. She marched on as if she hadn't heard him, her body singing the wedding march, her brain humming the funeral march. Life just _wasn't_ fair.

Four hours passed. Two hundred and forty minutes of thinking of nothing but Finn, even after she did her homework, posted a Myspace video for the hell of it, and helped her father Tim make dinner. While she was silently shoving penne pasta casserole into her mouth, her father Joseph noticed that she was unusually quiet. Joseph was the emotional, sensitive, motherly one. Tim wasn't as in-tune with his daughter's feelings as her other father.

"Rachel, honey? Are you okay?" Joseph was a marriage and family counsellor. He was big on talking.

"Not really." She sighed in reply. "I don't want to talk about it, Dads."

Joseph and Tim exchanged a worried look while she pushed the remaining food around on her plate. Ten minutes later, she felt as if she were ready to cry.

"Can I be excused?"

"Sure, Rach. Don't worry about cleanup, we'll take care of it." Rachel nodded in thanks to her parents and sprinted up the stairs, bursting into the bathroom. Maybe a long, hot shower was exactly what she needed to soothe herself on such a miserable occasion. She turned the water on full blast, coupled with her shower radio (a gift from her doting Nana last Christmas) it was almost impossible to hear herself think. _Almost._

When she finally stepped out of the shower, instead of feeling relieved, she felt drained. The hot water had done a good job of fogging up the bathroom; Rachel felt a little light-headed. She grabbed a towel from the rack before her bleary eyes caught sight of a pair of fresh pyjamas- pink, gingham, smelling comfortingly like lavender detergent. Rachel smiled, one of her dads must've put them there for her. She slipped on her nightclothes and walked to the mirror, wiping away the heavy condensation with her fingers, grabbing her hairbrush and blow-dryer.

_Rachel Berry, you're going to be a star. You're also an idiot._Her soundless reflection was mocking her as she combed out her damp hair. When she finally crashed into her bed, in spite of her exhaustion, she was unable to get to sleep. Thoughts of Finn and her past experience with "love" infiltrated her brain. Finally, she threw aside the covers, turned on the lamp residing on her nightstand, and grabbed her gold ipod off the vanity dresser, where she'd placed it before her shower. It was late. The clock on her ipod showed that it was almost two in the morning- she'd be a walking zombie in class if she didn't fall asleep soon.

Rachel climbed back into bed, hit 'Shuffle Songs', jammed the headphones into her ears and tried to let the sweet sensations of familiar music overtake her.

And of course, the first song she heard was _Don't Stop Believing_by Journey. That was significant because it was the first song that she and Finn had ever sung, successfully, together. The tears started slowly at first, then picked up speed until she was shaking like an addict in need of a fix, she ripped the earbuds from their place and slammed her ipod (still playing) down onto the nightstand. She slipped out of bed, out of her room, down the hallway and down the stairs. There was a carton of strawberry ice cream stashed safe in the freezer, used specifically for moments of insomnia and distress such as this one. Halfway through scooping pink, creamy goodness into a bowl, the kitchen light snapped on and Joseph, in his robe and slippers, squinted at his teenaged daughter, who stared back at him with wide eyes.

"Strawberry ice cream?" He tilted his head thoughtfully, scratching his head. "You usually hate that stuff… unless you're upset."

She offered no coherent reply, jamming her spoon into her mouth and grunting around it- and her ice cream- instead.

Joseph went to the freezer and retrieved the carton Rachel had just put away, making up a bowl for himself. "So, kiddo, you wanna talk about it?" He suggested.

She swallowed heavily. "No."

"Oh, alright then." he pulled out the chair next to her and ate quietly, knowing that sooner or later, the dam would break and her feelings would pour out.

"It's just," she frowned. "there's this boy at school. I like him _a lot_."

"The boy from glee? Pim?"

"Finn, Daddy." Rachel rolled her eyes playfully. "Anyway, he told me he liked me today…"

"Uh oh." Joseph whistled, knowing how difficult and stubborn his little girl could be. "What did you say, Rach?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." Rachel lifted her agonized eyes to his face. "I was too scared. I _am_ scared. Daddy, I don't wanna get hurt."

"Oh, honey bunch." Joseph frowned and leaned forward, wrapping her in a hug. Rachel allowed her spoon to fall into the bowl with a clatter and hugged back, new tears springing to her eyes.

"I don't wanna get hurt." She whimpered. "I don't."

"It looks to me like you already are." Joseph said sagely, pulling back just enough to wipe her tears away.

"But, no! I'm protecting myself."

"From what?" Joseph asked. "You know, Rach, I have a client who recently got married again-"

"Ellen Burr?" Rachel sniffed. "Yeah, we were at her wedding."

"Right, well, I was trying to be discreet. Patient-doctor confidentiality." Joseph smiled sheepishly. "Anyway, this is Ellen's second marriage and her new husband is much different from her old one. He's more attentive to her needs and less self-absorbed."

"Good for Ellen."

"They're currently separated."

Rachel frowned. "Was that supposed to cheer me up? Because it didn't."

"They're separated because Ellen doesn't seem to realize that Husband Number One and Husband Number Two are different people. She blames Husband Two for Husband One's mistakes."

"But that doesn't make sense." Rachel puzzled. "Why would she think that?"

"Ellen's only trying to protect herself. She thinks that by avoiding Husband Number Two, protecting herself from confrontation, things will just work out on their own. She misses him terribly, and he misses her."

"Daddy." Rachel frowned sulkily. "Are you saying I'm a bitter divorced woman who can't come to terms with being shafted in the past?"

"I'm _saying_," Joseph chuckled. "That not every guy is the same. You have to kiss a lot of toads before you find the frog prince, and even if there's a lot of empty space between the time you find those toads and frogs, it doesn't mean you won't find the right person."

"I don't want to get hurt." Rachel said adamantly.

"How do you know he's going to hurt you? How do you know you're not hurting him?"

She paused to consider the questions. "I don't." She finally admitted. "But after the way I acted today, it's not likely he'll want to give a relationship a shot again."

"Feelings like that don't just go away overnight, honey bunch."

"Really?"

"Really. I know my stuff. That's why I get paid the big bucks." Joseph winked.

"Well well well, what've we here? A midnight feast?" Tim stood in the kitchen entryway, arms crossed, teasing smile on his face.

"Just some father-daughter bonding, dearest." Joseph replied. "You good to go, Rach?"

"Yeah, thanks Daddy." She spooned the last of the ice cream into her mouth and carried her plate to the dishwasher. "You really helped me out." She kissed Joseph on the cheek, leaving a sticky strawberry mark, and gave Tim a hug and a kiss on her way out as well.

As the young brunette ascended the stairs, she could hear Tim asking Joseph what had just happened. She smiled and tiptoed back to her room, snuggling down under the covers and closing her eyes. She wasn't afraid to fall anymore, not when she was sure that Finn would catch her (and if he didn't, for some ungodly reason, her fathers would be after him with a vengeance). Yes, Rachel decided, life was good. And she was starting to think of reasons for why she _could_ have a boyfriend in high school.

_What if I fall  
What if I don't  
What if I never make it home  
What if I bleed  
What if I break  
And I find that I can't take  
The city below the citadel  
Holding my own hand?_

* * *

**Thank you for the feedback! In response to questions and comments, I would like to say that this is a series of oneshots with multiple pairings. I'm happy that you liked the first one (very happy, in fact, considering that I thought it was horrible) but it will not be made into a full-length story. In regards to _this _oneshot, well, it was a lot happier than I originally intended it to be. I'll probably post a second version with a not-so-happy ending. This has not been spell-checked, so I apologize for any errors you might find. Reviews inspire me -smiles-.**


	3. Paper Bag Part I: Kurt

**3. Paper Bag**

**Song choice: Paper Bag  
Character: Kurt  
Genre: Angst/family****  
Rating: T  
NOTE: This oneshot was written before "Wheels" was aired. I actually quite like Kurt's father, I think he's a decent character. But for the sake of this oneshot, he's slightly OOC. _As well, I've changed the lyrics of the song slightly to better fit the story.  
_**

Kurt Hummel knows what it's like to be an involuntary outcast; he's been one since before school started, and he knew it before the other kids told him what a "freak" he is. If someone were to ask him, Kurt would admit that he first felt like an oddball at the age of four, in fact, it was on the day of his fourth family birthday party. He had to have a joint birthday party with his cousin Jeremy, who played in the dirt and stomped around making obnoxious noises under the guise of being a dinosaur. Kurt could never see the appeal in such things- getting dirty, making noise without purpose- on the day of his fourth birthday party, when the cake had been eaten and the presents unwrapped, he was bitterly disappointed that no one had gotten him the Barbie play set he wanted. He'd gotten a set of army men, a children's thesaurus, clothes (ugly overalls and a sweater without glitter) and his father had gotten him a football autographed by someone who's name he didn't care to know.

"Wow!" Jeremy's eyes popped when he saw the football. "An autographed ball from Steven Marshall… he used to go to school here, you know."

"It's nice." Kurt couldn't understand what the big deal one. It was a ball. Big deal, he'd have more fun with a 'mini-manicure' kit from the drugstore. But Kurt knew better than to be ungrateful for a gift (no matter how useless it was), he thanked his father with a less-than-enthusiastic expression of gratitude and went back to staring listlessly at the ball.

"Kurt, why don't you and Jeremy go toss the old pigskin around?" His uncle Myron suggested. Kurt looked up, finding a countless number of adult faces staring expectantly back at him. He knew they all wanted him to play with Jeremy, he'd been wandering around, clinging to his mother's sleeve or off to one side all day, avoiding the messy games his cousin tended to engage in.

"Uh…" his blue eyes went to his mother. She had beautiful long dark hair, fair skin, and crystalline eyes that mirrored his. For a split second he thought she might help him; decree that he didn't have to play, he could stay at the table with the adults. But she only smiled and said,

"Go on, honey, go play."

"O…okay." Kurt frowned and hesitantly stood from his chair. Jeremy, who was just itching to toss the football around, grabbed him by the elbow and ran from the kitchen out into the backyard, dragging Kurt along with him. Ten minutes later, it was apparent that Kurt would later be the kid who was always picked last at recess to play sports.

"You suck at this!" Jeremy shouted, frustrated. "Haven't you ever played ball before?"

Kurt shook his head. "N-no."

Jeremy sighed with all of the world-weariness of an old man. "It's easy. I'll teach you." Kurt wasn't fond of the idea, but when he glanced over his shoulder, he could see his mother and father watching him from the window. His father winked, his mother waved. He managed something of a pathetic wave back and returned his attention to his cousin, who was holding the football and hopping from foot to foot, vibrating with excitement.

"Umm…"

"It's easy." Jeremy insisted, jogging to the other end of the backyard. "Watch!" He shouted. "I'll throw it and you just have to catch it! Okay?"

"Okay." Kurt bit his inferior lip. This wasn't going to end well.

"Ready? One, two, three!" Jeremy wound up and threw it with all the strength in his little arm as though it were a baseball rather than a football. It torpedoed Kurt full-force in the stomach, knocking him backwards, straight into his Aunt Clarissa's flower garden. Flower garden. Dirty.

Kurt pried open his tightly-scrunched eyes, his arms wrapped around his aching middle. The ball was resting point-up between his legs, it would've been an understatement to say that Kurt was a physically frail child. But the tears didn't start until he saw the dirt on his clean white dress shirt. He let out a pathetic half-whimper before bursting into melodramatic sobs.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Kurt's parents had run out the backdoor and were sprinting for him. They slowed as they approached, gauging the situation. Jeremy was standing, frozen in shock, at the other end of the backyard. Whether he was frightened by his cousin's banshee-like wailing or scared of being punished for playing roughly was unclear.

"Kurt, man. You're okay. Stand up, buddy." Kurt's dad ordered. "Be a man." Kurt shook his head, blubbering wildly. He couldn't be a man. He didn't want to be. "Oh God." His father mumbled, looking embarrassed and stepping to one side. "Don't be such a sissy, boy. On your feet now, c'mon." He tried yanking Kurt up by his elbow.

"Red!" Kurt's mother chastised her husband and gently removed his arm from Kurt's elbow. She took the boy into her arms and let him cry his little heart out.

"Are you upset because you're hurt?" She whispered gently in his ear.

"No, Mommy. My shirt is ruined." Kurt, mindful of his father staring, whispered quietly. His mother straightened up with a smile. Kurt thought she might be upset with him, but she simply brushed the dirt off of her clothes and picked him up, shifting the boy in her arms.

"Red, I'm gonna take Kurt home. I think he's had too much… excitement."

"That wasn't anything." Kurt's father protested. "He should learn to toughen up… c'mon Marcie, how's he ever gonna assert himself and be a man if he cries during football?"

"_You _cry every year during the Super Bowl." Marcie Hummel returned smartly, and she began carrying her son into the house, already planning her goodbyes. Kurt's blue eyes locked with his father's disappointed brown ones. It was then that the four-year-old got another pain in his stomach, this one unrelated to his clumsiness: it was the feeling of failure. He knew right then as he continued to look back at Red Hummel, that cursed football lying on the ground, that he would never be the son his father wanted him to be.

But the horrid feeling was forgotten when they got to the car and his mother pulled out a "surprise" from underneath her seat. It was wrapped up in bright paper, and upon tearing into it, Kurt found the Mattel product he'd been yearning for. He grinned and looked up at Marcie, seeing her grinning back. His mother would always accept him, of that he was sure.

*

The flaw in Kurt's logic, he will admit it now but only to himself, is that while his mother will undoubtedly love him for all eternity, she won't be around forever. He's thirteen now and watching his mother die of a slow, undignified cancer is the hardest thing he's ever had to do. He sits in her hospice room- she's not even in the hospital anymore! The doctors moved her to a hospice so she could die "comfortably". How the fuck could dying ever be considered comfortable?- every single day and cries his heart out, holding her hand while she cries too. Sometimes he reads to her, but mostly, when he's not bawling like a baby, he talks to her.

Marcie Hummel may be bed-ridden and too weak to even hug her son properly, but she still likes to know what's going on in his life. She always asks how school is going and if there are any pretty girls in the class/ When he is thirteen, he is watching his mother cling to her last shreds of life, and he knows he has to tell her the truth.

"Mom," Kurt says seriously.

"Yes, baby?" She responds, eyes half-closed.

The words are stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. He doesn't want to tell her, he really doesn't, because even though she never said anything, what if she was expecting a normal son? A normal, _straight_ son?

"Kurtis Hummel, what is it?" Her weak hand finds his and gives it a squeeze, ordering him to proceed. Tears build up in his eyes but he fights them back, determined to be strong this time. For her.

"Mom, I…" this is it. He doesn't want to tell her but he can't let her die without hearing the truth either. "I think I'm gay." Marcie's eyes open and her pretty mouth curves into a smile. Even in such a wretched state she's one of the most beautiful women Kurt has ever seen.

"I know, honey."

"Y-y-you're not mad?" He swallows another lump, feels himself slouch in the chair. A shameful slouch.

"No, Kurt. I love you just as you are." She assures him in that way that only she can, and in that moment he believes her. He believes her as if she's had truth serum and cannot tell a lie. The despicable secret of his sexuality doesn't have to be such a burden- who cares if he's gay? He's still Kurtis Patrick Hummel, and that's all that matters. He'll always be his mother's son.

But when she passes away two days later, Kurt's world is torn apart. He's never had a great relationship with his father, and Red seems to blame him for Marcie's passing.

"If you'd been stronger," he says venomously, the day of the funeral. They are both dressed in black suits and ties, waiting for Aunt Clarissa and Uncle Myron and Jeremy to come pick them up. "If you'd been stronger for your mother, maybe she wouldn't have had to be strong for you." Red spits then, it's a real loogie that ends up splattering Kurt's cheek. He doesn't care. He stands there as is, knowing that he deserves every particle of hatred his father feels for him.

He was never the boy that Red Hummel wanted. He was always his mother's son.

That night, after the funeral and everything else, Kurt collapses in bed, his formalwear still on. He hates himself, he decides, as he pounds at his pillow and bites his lip to stifle any crying. He wants to hide his head in a paper bag and be invisible to the rest of the whole prejudiced world. He hates himself and he wishes he was dead. At least then he'd get to be with his mom. Red is all he has left, and if he can't be the man he's expected to be, he won't ever know love again. Thirteen-year-old Kurt Hummel knows that.

*

In his sophomore year of high school, following his first real football game (a ploy designed to impress his father), Kurt just blurts it out. He was amazing at the game, everyone thought so. Even the stoic Red. But as he's washing his face with cleanser, thinking over the events of the game and how good it felt to be _good_ at something his father supports- he sees her face in the mirror. _Mom._ She looks disappointed, and before he can convince himself that the water the towel boy gave him was spiked, he remembers that scene in the hospital:

"_Mom, I__…"__ this is it. A lengthy pause as he hesitates, thinks about how beautiful Marcie is. The moment of truth. __"__I think I__'__m gay.__"_

_"__I know, honey.__"__ No backlash? What?_

_"__Y-y-you__'__re not mad?__"__ He was in disbelief, he remembers._

_"__No, Kurt. I love you just as you are.__"_

What was it that she'd said? "I love you just as you are."

"Hey, Kurt." Red Hummel greets him, shattering the silence. It's then that Kurt knows what he has to do. He has to stop trying to use football as a smokescreen- he needs to be a man and tell his father the truth. Marcie loved him just as he was. If Red can't, that's his problem.

When he finally tells him, he doesn't even remember saying the words. He knows they come out of his mouth but a second later his mind is left blank, in a deadlock as he waits for the explosive, negative reaction of his father. The monster who's been stopping him from coming out of the closet since he was four-years-old. He expects to hear yelling, furious denials, he even anticipates the feeling of Red's fist slamming his jaw. But instead he feels two strong arms around him, hugging him, pulling him close.

And for the first time since his mother's death, Kurt Hummel loves himself.

_He don't run from the sun no more  
He boxed his shadow and he won  
Said "I can see you laugh  
Through these bottle caps  
And this wire around my neck ain't  
There for fun"_

_But someday we'll all be old  
And I'll be so damn beautiful  
Meanwhile I'll hide my head  
Here in this paper bag  
'Cause if I cant see you  
Then you can't see me  
And it'll be okay  
Fly little bee away  
To where there's no more rain  
And I can be me_

* * *

**I apologize for the long wait, this was by far the hardest 'Glee' oneshot I've ever written. I don't think it's very good, but honest feedback is appreciated :) the song "Paper Bag" fits most (if not all) of the student characters pre-Glee. I've divided it into two parts. This one was based on Kurt, and the next instalment is a surprise :)**


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